Blood and Water
by The Mock Turtles
Summary: Balthier is bruised and broken; no longer able to move, and see the skies of the desert above him. The end is near and the infamous sky-pirate remembers the days where he went by a different name; had different obligations; had a family.
1. Chapter 1

**T I T L E** : Blood and Water  
**C H A P T E R **: Death of a Sky-Pirate  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : K-T. Like, one bad word. xD  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the game has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : Hinted at FranxBalthier  
**S U M M A R Y** : One off. Bahamut has crashed and Balthier is left in ruins against the debris of the aircraft.  
He cannot move his legs.  
And he can barely see the blue heavens above him.  
His time is drawing to a close and his life flashes before his eyes...  
A life he had left behind.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own SquareEnix's FFXII - or any of its original characters. Obviously, the OCs are mine. ;)

* * *

**C H A P T E R O N E**

From a distance the flash was brilliant; the explosion, beautiful.  
The hellish roar did not deafen the people of Dalmasca, and their licking flames lightly glazed the skies of Nalbina in its crimson light.  
In a second it was all over - the sky-terror Bahamut skimmed the clouds of its burning engines before descending to earth in a whorl of soot and sand, torn asunder like the cruel chains that confined the peoples to Archadia.

Once more, they were _free_.

Individuals at last – the proud nation before it was stripped of its monarch and independence.

For Balthier, it was enough. For the noble sky-pirate, the piercing aches of his bones and the fierce ringing in his ears was worthwhile for the county he had helped restore to its former glory; for a princess he had aided in securing her throne; a general whose name was replenished; for two orphans he had returned a home to. But what did he, a man swearing fealty to no one receive in return?

The embers of the fire continued to sizzle on hot plates of metal, the heat basking the curves of his face in soothing warmth. His eyes lolled from side to side, unfocused and uncoordinated as they scanned an azure sky for signs of life, helplessly searching for an exit from the thick rolls of smoke that billowed before his line of sight, concealing the the heavens behind a haze of smog.

His hands twitched anxiously as he tried to move – but to no avail. They curled around vapors of dust, feeling the spicy heat of smoke slip through his grasps. The back of his hands merely swiveled from side to side, brushing his scorched skin against the bed of sand beneath him. The Archadian had little hope of moving, nonetheless, he tried; tried with all the might his throbbing limbs could muster to unlatch himself from his sandy tomb.  
But it was useless. Useless to move legs that were bent, bruised and broken, and arms that burned with the intensity of the inferno around him. The bandit tilted his head to the side, wincing painfully as muscles clenched and tightened around his throat causing him to splutter and groan. To the east, his eyes caught sight of more debris; more smoldering bars or iron torn from the main bulk of the airship, still attached to thick bolts in its corners.

The more he stared, the more surreal the surroundings felt to him – the less he knew here he was, or what had truly happened. All that remained to him were the wails of sirens and the frantic clatter of metal before an eerie silence and a vociferous collision. Again, there was that excruciating pain in the back of his head and neck and Balthier's eyes squinted in response. He had no idea of time and space – how long he had been lying there, or where he had fallen. All he knew was that his body was deteriorating under the pain of his earlier stunts and the vague sting of a cut along the side of his brow was growing dimmer as the minutes past.

_Everything was. _

The old sores were retreating into a pleasant numbness until the ache of his chest grew dull and the pain in his limbs vanished. All that remained was the metallic tang of blood on this lips to remind him that he was injured – perhaps too injured now to be recovered.

_Yes_. He thought as the soothing deadness crept up his leg and caressed his skin into numbness before working the rest of his body. His eyes fluttered shut and he let out a shuddered breath as he readied himself for an impending sleep – one that he feared he would not wake up from.

In the void of his mind, he could barely tell what had been and what was; and the past and present weighed thickly in his thoughts as an inky darkness settled over the scene.

* * *

**N O T E S **: Okay. This is a oneshot... for now. At the moment I am unsure whether I should continue or not - but I'll see what you peeps think before I make any decisions.  
Hope you enjoy the opening scene.

V


	2. Chapter 2

**T I T L E** : Blood and Water  
**C H A P T E R **: Early Years  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : K-T. Like, one bad word. xD  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the game has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : Hinted at FranxBalthier  
**S U M M A R Y** : One off. Bahamut has crashed and Balthier is left in ruins against the debris of the aircraft.  
He cannot move his legs.  
And he can barely see the blue heavens above him.  
His time is drawing to a close and his life flashes before his eyes...  
A life he had left behind.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own SquareEnix's FFXII - or any of its original characters. Obviously, the OCs are mine. ;)

**C H A P T E R T W O**

_At thirteen years old, Ffamran was still the youngest._

His fair hair was combed neatly against his scalp, slicked backwards just like his father had approved. Catching glimpse of his reflection in the window of his home, he frowned, casting his head back with a sigh of resentment. He honestly did not like it when he could not longer see the tips of his hair curling upwards. If anything, the child looked like he was balding.  
Timidly, he poked at the hair winding by his ears before paying attention to the flowing openings of his sleeves which had fallen back on his arms. The young Archadian looked rather dashing in his small outfit – a miniscule version of his father in clothing with an uncanny set of facial features to match. He could not help smirk at his reflection as he eyed himself over once more.

"Oh Ffamran, you look absolutely striking!"

Whipping his head round in the direction of the comment, the boy's scowl softened as his sister's face came into view. She giggled girlish, placing her dainty fingers over pale lips as she chortled at the entrance of the lounge. In the morning light her pastel skin was coated in a golden sheen; compliments of the sunlight which streamed through the large pane of glass that stretched across the length of the room's wall; bathing it in constant light.  
He responded with a laugh – unsure whether she was teasing him or expressing genuine appreciation for his new articles of clothing.

"Like it do you, Princess?"

"Indeed. Beautiful material," she observed as she strolled towards him, giving him admiring nods all the while. "Lovely cut - not one seem visible from what I can see. Pity though that it is outshined by the wearer," the older Bunansa concluded with an affectionate smile.

"You mock your dear brother too much," he growled, leaning over to plant a kiss on his kin's cheek, familiarizing himself with the recognizable texture of flesh that settled above her prominent bone structure. She offered him another pleasant bout of laughter with those soft, airy breathes that so beautifully suited her fine features and darling temperament. However, their brief interlude was ruined by a third voice.

"You do flatter him much, Valencia. Do you wish for his ego to grow any larger than it already is?"

"Dagda you should not say such things!" she scolded. The fifteen year old did not even bother to advert her gaze to the door where she knew their elder brother would be poised, glowering mischievously no less as he observed his two siblings. She noted that Ffamran was staring keenly at him, his lower lip giving the odd tremble as he tried to contain his emotions. "Take no heed of him." Valencia was calm as she spoke, raising the timbre of her voice so that they reached both of her brothers. "You know that Dagda is just _jealous_."

"Of course I am!" he replied in mock shock, strutting towards the two, "Who would not be jealous of the prodigal son? Is it wrong of me sister, to be envious of the opportunities he has been offered?"

"You know that father loves us all equally," Valencia reminded the pair; the droning tone of her voice revealing that this was a well-rehearsed line. She occupied herself with fixing her younger brother's shirt, her fingers soon losing their graceful dexterity as Dagda tutted into her ear.

"Always the Dreamer aren't we, my dear?"

"Dagda…" Ffamran was silenced by a stern look from his sister, with a firm yank at his sleeves for emphasis for him to remain out of this conversation. Her full lips were pressed tightly together; her brows nit in concentration as she blocked out Dagda's malicious laughter. Too early in the morning it was to start an argument, but she was unsure whether she could remain neutral for long. Being the peace-keeper of the two for much of her young life had taken a lot out of her, and she had hoped that her seventeen year old brother would have outgrown his bitter dislike for the youngest Bunasa by this point in time. Sadly, it was not the case.

"I cannot believe that you have yet to come to your senses about this sister," Dagda continued, finally occupying her line of sight as he ambled behind Ffamran. His broad shoulders loomed over the smaller boy's, with his head craning over his so that he might peer intently into his sister's face. He searched for doubt in her features; for some show that her resolve had faltered. She did not let out that she was anything but positive of her earlier statement, however, she refused to face Dagda for extended periods of time in fear of believing his words if she stared into his handsome, but dark eyes for too long. He had such an influential character that Valencia could not risk to let her guard down around him, even if he was her brother.

"You know sooner or later you will have to face facts…"

She ignored him and smiled feebly at Ffamran. "Where should we go today, brother?"

"You mean… out?"

"I would hope so! Come, we should make use of such a glorious morning – perhaps a stroll by the aerodrome? Or would you like to come shopping with your sister?"

Ffamran pulled a face at the latter.

"The aerodrome it is." She turned her attention to Dagda who was lurking by the window, peering down into the busy streets of central Archades. He was pressed so closely against the window that his warm breath clouded the glass and his straight nose nearly brushed against the surface. He was staring so passionately at the streets that Valencia could not help but quiver. His intensity was overwhelming. Everything he ever did was with such ardor that it was impossible not to be captivated and intrigued by her enigmatic kin.

"Would you like to come with us? I know how you love aircrafts," Valencia addressed Dagda, earning a silent protest from Ffamran who pulled as many faces as he could muster to illustrate his dislike of the proposal.

"No, no, I don't think that I will accompany you. Father has sent me on errands you know. I cannot ignore my responsibilities."

_Still trying to win father's affections_, she thought. "As you wish."

Extending a hand, Ffamran cast one last hateful glare at his brother before setting out to do as his sister suggested. Although outwardly composed, he could not help that his heart raced with the prospect of finally going outside – out into Archades without guards, without the protection of father's inventions.  
But it was not meant to be. Secretly, he knew that it would happen; nonetheless, his sister's enthusiasm always instilled such confidence within him that they were actually going to go out and leave the prison of their home.  
With another weak smile, Valencia retracted her hand from her brother's palm. She knew as well the bleakness of their situation however, she could not help but try every day in the hope that a miracle would happen and the prodigal son would be relieved from his duties.

"_Ffamran_?" Father Cid's voice echoed through out the halls of the manor. "Ffamran it is time to work, m'son!"

Ffamran hesitated. For the first time this morning, he felt silly in the new clothes supplied to him by his father; embarrassed that he was the only one who his father ever seemed to talk about. Most of all however, he felt ashamed as the brightness in his sister's face waned and her lips curled downwards. But it would not be so for long. She would smile and pat him on the back while whispering words of encouragement and hope that tomorrow they would finally be allowed to do as they please.

As he exited the room, the door closed shut once again and with it, came the return of Valencia's solemn façade.

"If you do not see what I see, you are deaf, dumb _and _blind."

"And if you do not have the heart to love your brother no matter the consequences you are truly _inhuman_," Valencia snapped sullenly. Her lithe arms curled themselves around her waist and she gazed longingly out into the cerulean skies of their homeland, seeing passenger aircrafts driving through thick clouds and patrol ships heading to the far north.  
A sudden lethargy overcame her and she sauntered to the plush armchair overlooking the city, collapsing onto it with a low groan. Her head already burned with confusion which was made worse by the knowledge of an impending headache.

Dagda's sigh reached her through her musing.

"Why do you sigh, brother?"

"It pains me to see you like this Valencia – so unhappy, so preoccupied…"

"You should not concern yourself with my wellbeing."

"I must protest! It is part of my duty."

"Ha! _Duty_? All for duty, isn't it?" she said unkindly. For once, Dagda's poker face crumbled and he showed his abhorrence with a frown deeply etched across his features.

"Without duty, Valencia, we have no order. I wish that you and Ffamran would come to realize that sooner rather than later and that _he _especially, comes to appreciate the amount of time father wastes on _him_."

"Still so jealous, Dagda…" Valencia noted, amused by her elder brother's childish demeanor. How he could be so selfish and conceited at times was beyond her – a man that preached about honor and obligation so consumed by a child's want of his father's appreciation. The young Archadian thumbed her earrings, listening to the dangling chains chime against one another as she toyed with the lobe of her ear; brushing back her flaxen curls from her face in the process.

"You should not bully him for the fact that he has taken your place as his favorite son."

"And you should not neglect the fact that you are protecting a boy who stole your mother from you and claimed the love of our father," he spat, raising his voice so much so that it bounded off the walls of the large quarter. His fiery gaze burned into her, and Valencia could not prevent herself from feeling a sliver of the anger and resentment that Dagda held for the prodigal son – the only one that mattered.

"I wish you would grow up and realize that!" were his last words before he stormed out of the room, leaving Valencia in solitude for the rest of the day.

Such was the life of a Bunansa.

**N O T E S :** M'kay. Got some OCs. Now I am sorta... hesitant for OCs - you can love them or hate them.  
They are your own invention but you just have to be careful when you incorporate them. Technically I am not making up that Balthier had a larger family. He is the youngest of three, I have read, so I just took some artistic licence with the family. ;)  
What would really be splended would be som insight onto how you think I am portraying the characters? Good? Bad? Just stop now, my brain cannot take it anylonger type of bad?


	3. Chapter 3

**T I T L E** : Blood and Water  
**C H A P T E R **: Decision  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : K-T. Like, one bad word. xD  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the game has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : Hinted at FranxBalthier  
**S U M M A R Y** : One off. Bahamut has crashed and Balthier is left in ruins against the debris of the aircraft.  
He cannot move his legs.  
And he can barely see the blue heavens above him.  
His time is drawing to a close and his life flashes before his eyes...  
A life he had left behind.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own SquareEnix's FFXII - or any of its original characters. Obviously, the OCs are mine. ;)

* * *

**C H A P T E R T H R E E**

_At sixteen years old, Ffamran was still the youngest. _

He paced the four walls of his room absorbedly, hands drawn behind his back. The evening sun was setting against the bed of clouds, peering over far-off mountains in the west.

His room overlooked the precious gardens of central Archades; a beautiful attraction for much of the genteel class whom chose to spend their afternoons sauntering through rows of delicate flowers and robust trees now twisted with age.

Against the natural grove of the gardens, new Archades was expanding – an innovative city which his father had helped created; a city of winding skyscrapers and dazzling lights – where the prime of the nation would spend their days in luxury.  
But where was his father's thirst to rebuild his homeland?

What happened to his want to improve the lives of the few stragglers that were left in the old ruins of the city – too poor to come to the new Archades; too proud to leave their place of birth?

Gone, lost - consumed by talk of the "would be gods", and of nethicite; crystal like objects of unknown power.

Ffamran winced as he thought of the glowing stones his father had attached himself to like some sort of parasite. Stones that would never leave his side within the confines of his home laboratory. How could he have changed so drastically? Forgot about the things most dear to him – of the projects that were now worn and unfinished sketches beneath piles of research and notes on nethicite. How had he forgotten about the family that day after day, lies waiting outside his office… hoping… _praying _that their father will return to them?

He no longer ventures outside of his workplace for long; barely long enough for either child to have a glimpse of their paling father before he submersed himself within his locked chambers. At dinner, he was never a frequent guest, though sporadically he would appear to join them. For Ffamran he would rather his father remained locked in his room with his playthings than watch his deteriorating mind at work. Too many times he had watched his father dine on empty plates and drink from empty glasses; too addicted to his _illness _to waste time on such trivial luxuries like food.

Nonetheless, he would not say anything – none of them would.

_They would eat in silence. _

Cid would keep him near – to his right during every meal they would share. Despite his isolation from his family Ffamran would see him the most out of his kin; his father's prodigal son to the end it seemed. Cid would ask favors of him; and continued to instruct him as he had always done – but no longer in engineering and the physics. Now, he told him riddles and stories – fables of some mythical place in rolling mist; of nethicite and a cryst of incalculable power.

The more he listened to his ramblings, the less Ffamran could feel for his father or execute his commands. He was not blinded by love as Dagda was. He could not bend to every whim of his father or indulge in his fantasy talk by asking questions and feigning interest to win his affections. He was not as kindhearted as his sister who would remain silent in the presence of her father, only to smile when he addressed her – even though he had failed to call her by her real name since he had returned from his expedition. She would tolerate how he would stroke her hair at the diner and call her by their mother's name, only to excuse herself from the table when she could not bare the sight of her father's lunacy any longer.

Ffamran's fingers dug into his temples in an attempt to alleviate his aching head. His eyes focused on papers sprawled across his desk; examining papers written in his father's hand of all things mythical and unproven – things he could not understand. It was driving him mad! He wondered how long it would be till he began to talk in tongues and speak to people who were not there. He hoped he would never comprehend what was written on those pieces of parchment – for the day he does he would have surely lost his mind.

In the corner of his room, the glint of metal distracted him from his current thoughts. His iron wrought clothing was golden in the dying light of the sun; glinting spitefully at him from the post it was rested on. The young man was tempted to throw that sheet of amour from the window so he would not have to think on it any longer.

"Ffamran… are you busy?" a voice called from behind the door.  
Valencia, he thought. He desperately wanted to reject her – tell her that he was busy with his studies; nonetheless it was impossible for him to grasp words that would surely hurt his sister. Rather, he scuttled towards the door, pausing to run his fingers through his unkempt hair and fiddle with the alignment of his clothing which spilled from the confines of his trousers. He looked a mess and he did not want to worry his sister with his appearance.

"Come in," the door opened on command, and the vision of his kin manifested before his eyes. She adorned a silken number; flowing, white and translucent to reveal the outline of a matching bodice beneath her overalls. Her curled locks were rung over her left shoulder and she fiddled with the ends religiously as she lingered by the entrance, making no effort to meet her brother on the other side of the door frame. It was a wonder whether she had even noticed that he was standing before her. Her eyes hadn't that spark of recognition. They were blank and lifeless; so light a blue in comparison to the boys in her family.

Ffamran could stare at her all day – a young woman who he had watched grow in likeness to the mother he had lost during his childbirth. It was no wonder that Dr. Cid in his current state favored to call her by their mother's name – for the resemblance they shared was uncanny from what the portraits dictated. However, today, on such a day, he could not bear to hearken to the similarities between the two, and grew impatient with her silence.

"What do you want?" He had not wanted to sound so irritated, but his instability did not allow him to control his tone of voice or disguise his anxiety.

"It is time for dinner, Ffamran," she told him. She appeared to come to her senses and watched her brother intently, perplexed not by his tone, but because he had forgotten that it had been several hours since he left his room. "Father is going to dine with us tonight, I believe," she continued, hoping that this piece of information would coax him from the confines of his quarters. It did not work.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ffamran propelled himself back into the heart of his room, away from his sister. "If that is true I'll have dinner in my room," came his stubborn reply.

"Ffamran! You cannot reject your duty to dine with us! Dagda would be furious-"

"Let him be Valencia – I care not! If he is so intent on being the prodigal son let him have father's full attention at the table. I assure you my presence shant be missed."

"What has gotten into you? You know that we dine for father – not to suit Dagda's petty qualms!" Valencia reminded him sternly, pausing behind her brother who was perched by the window overlooking the empire. From his reflection, she watched his face crumple into a scowl – the sixteen year old now refusing to look his sister in the eye as they spoke. This was not like him,. Even on the worse days he still showed common curtsey towards her, if not their brother.

"And why do we dine for him? Hmm?" he asked while folding his arms behind his back. His fingers formed a tight loop around his wrists; his index finger touching the circlet that dangled against the bottom of his palm.

"Because he needs us… he needs us to…"

_Gods_! She closed her eyes, unable to watch him any further. She knew that if she did, she would not able to stop herself from reaching out and holding him close to her in fear of him slipping away through her fingers – just like Cid. Seeing Ffamran like this there was little difference between the two; detached from the world and those around them, devoid of emotion and expression. She feared she was losing her beloved brother to the darkness as well and there's nothing that she could do to pull him from it. And if she lost him like her father, like her mother… there would be no doubt that her frail body would not be able to withstand the emotional strain of their losses.

But she gathered herself in a sigh, and pressed on; not permitting her thoughts to get the best of her. "He needs us to remind him that we will always be there for him… not matter what he says or does."

There was an awkward pause with nothing but wordless breaths filling the moments.

"Is that part of your duty as a daughter?" he whispered, turning his head slightly so that she might hear his question.

He looked so feeble and unsure of himself – not the confident and witty brother she knew. He appeared a decade younger in her eyes; before he discovered his talents in flying and building; in weaponry and fighting. When he was only a boy he had been stripped of everything except his father's doting nature and her boundless adoration for him. He was so small, frail and uneasy. She expected this from a boy of six and seven, but not a full grown man who had been accepted into the ranks of the Imperial forces as a judge and had the education and intelligence of the brightest researchers of Archadia. His lack of confidence at present was unnerving and her natural instinct as his protector could not help but rise to the surface.

She rested a cold hand on his shoulder, glad that he did not pull away from the contact.

"It is not only duty that binds me to him. It is because I love him. It is a duty to my heart as well that I stand by his side. It is the same with you."

He reached up and rested a hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I love you Ffamran. Never forget that," she told him, finally getting a glimpse of his slate blue eyes as he registered her remark. His lips twitched into a smirk and he turned his body to face hers, taking her hand in his.

"I love you regardless of what you choose, or what you say. As a sister I cannot help it – but do not confuse my love with my duty to you, for those are two different matters. Dagda may boast all he wants of his obligations, but it is his loss that he cannot distinguish between what is expected of him in his duty, and the love that dictates the extra miles we go for those we care for."

So wise his sister was. He imagined their mother to have been just like her; so full of passion and knowledge bound by a frail body. It pained him to see his sister's intellect and emotional strength undermined by the physical aliements she possessed. Much like his mother, he feared – who could no longer bear the physical strain of childbirth – Valencia would be conquered by corporeal restraint and restricted by the limits of her body.

A waste of such a strong woman.

"I'll be down momentarily - I just have to finish a few things for father."

"Thank you."

Bringing his lips to her hand, Ffamran planted a gentle kiss to her supply skin before allowing her to exit the room, watching her as she slinked off through the metal door to attend to the family – as she always did – leaving him alone to ponder on her words.

Alone. _Alone_.

He felt his muscles quake beneath his shirt, and his legs give way to his weight as his sister vanished from sight and her footsteps dissolve into silence. He rested his arms against the table's surface and hoped they would stop shaking. His head lolled between his outstretched arms and hunched shoulders and his hot breathe poured down the length of his chest.

Ffranman thought of his options – he thought of his home; of his past and childhood. He thought of his father and of the friends and acquaintances he had come by in his short years. Was he willing to throw it all away on a whim? Was he prepared to discard honor and duty because he could no longer bare he burden of being the prodigal son?  
Lifting his head, he peered into sky longingly; into the orange hue of the heavens and beyond the pink tinge of the horizon. His sister's face appeared before him; a shadowed outline against the backdrop of a glorious sunset.

Ffranman could not help it. Could not help his desire to be free; to charter his own destiny and live a life free of this hypocrisy and corruption.  
He could not help _crying _for the past he would leave behind and an unknown future he would claim as a deserter of kin and country.

**N O T E S** : What can I say? I am a despicable young girl who enjoys seeing hot leading men break down into tears.  
Ah Balthier - I enjoyed writing him in this scene. I liked the idea of mental deterioration especially for him. He must be terrified of becoming anything like his father  
and I thought it would be appropriate to show his fear of it.

R&R


	4. Chapter 4

**T I T L E** : Blood and Water  
**C H A P T E R **: Reunion  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : K-T. Like, one bad word. xD  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the game has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : Hinted at FranxBalthier  
**S U M M A R Y** : One off. Bahamut has crashed and Balthier is left in ruins against the debris of the aircraft.  
He cannot move his legs.  
And he can barely see the blue heavens above him.  
His time is drawing to a close and his life flashes before his eyes...  
A life he had left behind.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own SquareEnix's FFXII - or any of its original characters. Obviously, the OCs are mine. ;)

* * *

**C H A P T E R ****F O U R **

_At twenty-two years old, Balthier was still the youngest._

As the group pushed through the ornate archway into the central city of Archades, he blocked out the breaths of awe that escaped each of his traveling companions. Even the princess stared gob smacked as her eyes scaled the length of the capital's renowned towers.

They dispersed into pairs with the up and coming sky-pirates galloping onto the outskirts of the crest of the sidewalk that overlooked the rest of the city. The Dalmascan Princess and her loyal general walked side by side towards Vaan and Penelo but paused before reaching the railing. Basch endeavored to remain indifferent to his surroundings, but it was obvious from his darting eyes that he wanted to absorb as much as possible of the grand city.  
Balthier refused to travel any further, keeping his eyes fixed on at least one party member as he waited for the scenery to grown dull for the newcomers. He even ignored Fran for a better part of a minute who came to stand by his side.

"You never said your homeland was so beautiful," she husked, rolling her auburn eyes in his direction. Her alabaster hair tickled the sky-pirate' nose, causing him to shift dejectedly from his position.

"Yes, well, it is not one of those things you mention when describing a place that you've decided to leave behind. Nostalgia and all that," he explained with as much apathy as he could muster. "But it is… pleasant to look at. A pity that beneath its fine veneer it is rotten to the core."

"Quite poetic words for a sky-pirate," the Viera teased, offering a grating chuckle which helped brighten Balthier's mood.

"Old habits die hard. Can't help delving back to _some_ old roots now that I am back here," he groaned, subconsciously flattening his hair with his hand so that he resembled the clean-cut gentility that surrounded them. "I guess it is only natural that the leading man now escorts the party to an adequate location. Funny though, that the more time I spend with these people the more I feel like some tour guide."

Rounding up the group, Balthier led the way through the bustling streets of Archades, ignoring the excited chatter of Vaan and Penelo and even Basch who had finally relieved himself of his uninterested façade. It was enough to bring a smile to the pirate's lips, but not for long. Amongst the company of the people he had left behind, Balthier felt confused and cornered. After all these years he would have hoped that the reminiscence of his old home would have faded from his current state of mind, nonetheless, he felt undeniably drawn and shamefully thrilled that he was amongst people that he claimed to hate. He did – he abhorred their integral ways and lust for power, nevertheless, he could not condemn them all for it. After all these years he could not find it within himself to disconnect every trace of the past. Perhaps he would have to embrace the idea that he may never sever all ties he formed with his home.

As they trekked further into the depths of Archades, the excitement only seemed to heighten amongst the outsiders, even coaxing Fran out of her silence to compliment the strange culture of these northern Humes. For Balthier however, his thoughts became more troublesome the closer they came to the central barrier. Soon, the enthusiasms of his companions were too much to handle and he grew agitated by their lack of attentiveness and knew that for one part of the journey, he would have to go unaided.

"Vaan. I'm going to go into central."

"Alright."

"Alone," he added after seeing his protégé's determined look. He turned his sights to the rest of the gang, making sure they understood what he was telling them. Fran unpredictably looked hesitant to let him wander off on his own, however a reassuring wink from her partner made her more willing to accept his proposal.  
With the group listening, Balthier explained that Jules would be waiting for them near the entrance of the central highway and that supplies would be needed if they were to take on Draklor Laboratory. As they dispersed, Fran remained behind, obviously curious as to what Balthier intended to do.

"What is it that you seek Balthier?" she questioned him, unveiling her suspicious nature to her associate who had failed to persuade her to let him be. At that point he seemed tempted to take his exotic companion with him – to show her that he did trust her with every bit of information from his past. Nevertheless he couldn't. Despite how deeply imbedded his trust was for her, it was difficult for him to take someone to a place that in his mind, he had sought to sever completely from his past.

"A way into Draklor Laboratory," he stated in a matter of factly voice. He already turned to leave but felt the Viera's piercing gaze on his back as he wandered down the cobblestone pathways.

_"Your eyes betray your heart."  
_

Sadly, Balthier did not have to consciously watch where he walked – his feet leading him on forgotten roads in the direction of the Bunasa residence. It sickened him to know that he still knew where he lived in spite of the value that his old home might provide for insight onto Draklor Laboratory. He knew it may have been possible for him to find a way visually by scanning the perimeter of Draklor, but his rational side was not adhering to the desires of his heart.  
As he neared the entrance of his old home, he could not help the blood roaring in his ears and the quickening of his footsteps as he strode into a seemingly unoccupied lobby and into a lift. He felt inebriated as his eyes scanned the numbers for the top floor; his digits fumbling to try and press the buttons while squinting to keep the numbers in focus. He licked his upper lip, tasting the salty tang of sweat as beads formed on his skin – he was nervous as a virgin, and he laughed as his own apprehension.

"Still so scared, Balthier?" he asked himself, leaning against the back of the lift as he waited for the familiar chime of the machine and the sudden pull of the lift as it slowed to a stop. The door slid open accordingly, revealing the hall of the Bunasa residence – the mouth of the cave as it were.  
He was not sure if it would work and whether he would have to find an alternative means to enter the estate, however as he left the lift, the door opened on accordance with his arrival.  
"Unlocked?" It was rare that anyone ever left the entrance unguarded, but Balthier was not going to question his luck and pressed on.

He was hit with a wave of familiarity – scents that he elapsed into memory yet were recalled instantly when they wafted into his system. It was like riding a bike of sorts, returning home, however it was far less unpleasant than he had expected. Naturally, the pirate assumed that such memories would only heighten the details of his miserable past – long days spent loitering in this prison as he waited for his father to call for him; the melancholy of hours after hours of studying nethicite before training for the judges in evening while being indoctrinated into the ways of the changing empire. Yet, while these memories were prominent, Balthier could still remember the days of his youth playing with toy models of his father's aero designs, watching how his old man's face would light up in glee at the sight of his child putting together these designs with ease. He even recalled the interest he had once had for his studies – not the rubbish folklore on nethicite and its archaic riddles, but of engineering and science; of some of the wonders that his father arguably, helped discover. He caught himself smiling at the open hallway of the home; his eyes gazing out into the lounge where he spent evenings with his sister.

His _sister_. He felt his heart wrench within the precincts of his chest – such pain he had not felt in the longest of time. Archades brought that out of him; pain and despair and regardless of its few qualities, the costs always outweighed the benefits.  
Pushing through, Balthier decided to make short work of his task and hurried to the office at the end of the hall where Dr. Cid would be sure to leave any secret passages or blueprints of Draklor Laboratory. He ignored the echo of his footsteps and his ragged breaths, positive that the home would no longer be used as a domicile by his relatives – Draklor was Cid's home now, and he was sure that his siblings flew the coup not long after he did.  
As he rounded the corner, his gait slowed to a stop as he came across the metal door which blocked his path to the office.

The red light was glaring. It was locked.

Sighing, Balthier scratched his head, ruffling the short tips of his auburn hair.  
The door was locked with a fingerprint identification scan – state of the art and impossible to break without setting off an alarm. The wonders of Cid Bunasa's inventions.

"Well, end of the line then," he moaned, his head turned to the doorways on either side as if searching for some answers – a sign that he still had a cat in hell's chance of getting through. Always the skeptic, Balthier let out an airy laugh as he saw the answer written across the wall.  
An old painting of him when he was a child was hung on the wall of the dining room which lay adjacent to the office. It was conveniently placed for the old man to fetch some refreshments before dashing off into the safety of his little stink hole.

But the picture – the image of a beaming young boy in fine clothes and an amicable façade was staring him in the face. In all honesty he thought the picture of a heretic such as himself would have been burned and torn asunder – not hung proudly in the dining room of his father's home!

"If that is still there…" he gawped at the fingerprint tab attached to the door frame, "I wonder whether this will still work." As a boy, he had always had access to the office to find father Cid – as the prodigal son it was expected that he have the privilege to unlock this room unlike his brother and sister. Before he could doubt the validity of his notions in his mind, Balthier's hand was pressed against the cold pad; and the light was tracing over the ridges of his digits.

There was a click, and a green light at the apex of the door flashed before disappearing behind the alcove of the door frame.

"My my, this is a surprise." There was more he would want to say; more he could have said about this incident, but he didn't want to overcomplicate things. He was simply grateful of the fact that Cid was too preoccupied with his nethicite to change the locks – or so he hoped. Any nostalgia on his deranged father's behalf would have been too much for the young Bunasa to handle.

Entering the darkness of the office, Balthier headed towards the desks littered with papers, sure that time was running out for him. The Bunasa's residence would only be devoid of guards for a short while and he did not want to tempt fate by loitering. His fingers skillfully weaved through the worn pages of books and papers but it was all information that he had seen before; drawings of multicolored stones and ancient texts on the origins of nethicite. Nothing valuable.  
If anything, it appeared as if this office had not been used for years. Dust had collected over the odd scientific apparatuses and most of the books and a thick film of grime on its cover.

Useless. All this luck wasted.

Behind him, Balthier heard an unnerving click. He froze, his legs rooting him to the earth. He knew that sound; the sound of a gun – and by the resonance it produced, it wasn't a little one either.

"Don't even think about moving."

Balthier's eyes widened as the feminine chimes of a voice poured into his ears; filling his chest with an unbearable pain; causing his gorge to rise up into his mouth, chocking the air from his windpipe.

"_Gods_," he uttered, hearing the steady drumming of footsteps as his capturer walked closer to him, pressing the mouth of the gun to the back of his skull. He was so tempted to turn around; so tempted to take a chance of a bullet to the head to see her – to see what she had become during the six years since he had last seen his beautiful kin – his darling Valencia.  
But shame and regret kept him motionless.  
The _ignominy_ of having to face her in these circumstances kept him still; being the thief of his own house and a notorious pirate in his own right. Did he want her to see him like this? Show her the reason he left the highlife to come back here to rob them? No – this was not the impression he wanted to make on her.

"What are you doing in _my_ house?"

"Technically its still Cid's house-"

"Dr. Bunasa to you, you foul, loathsome-"

"My, my, aren't we a feisty one?" he said enthusiastically. He could not contain his excitement and delight, even if he was in such a situation. She was still here and Valencia remained the fiery little mistress he had known her to be; proving his skeptical mind that she could stand on her two feet. Oh, how ill-placed his thoughts had been!

His laughter had evoked something within the girl, and he could almost sense her confusion as she listened to Balthier's unmistakable chortle.

"Who _are_ you?"

"It is me, Valencia… Balt-Ffamran."

"I knew a Ffamran once but you are not him. _He_ would not lack the curtsey to break into someone's home!"

_If only she would turn the light on!_ _It would make it so much easier!_ Balthier groaned. He would have to do this persuasion verbally and he was not sure how to convince someone as stubborn as his dear sibling. Besides, who in their right mind would suspect that someone in his position would have the marbles to come back to face the people he abandoned?

"Then how do you explain how I opened Cid's office door?"

She was silenced by his question; however she did not remove the gun from his head.

"Use sense, _Princess_!" he urged, "You know aside from Cid, I am the only one with prints that open this door."

He could feel her resolve waver, and he pressed on with his assault on her. "Is it so hard to believe that your poor brother would want to come home after all these years to see his sister?"

"It is," she whispered, holding the gun less delicately against his skull, earning a hearty grumble from the sky-pirate. However, after a pause, she ceased to be aggressive and continued to rest the gun lightly against his cranium. "Step into the light, _thief_," she ordered, "and keep your eyes forward."

With that, the two backtracked out of the office into the light of the hallway. As soon as they were passed the doorframe, Balthier swiveled on his heels with effortless grace and grasped the wrist of the hand holding the gun. Before he had time to register his next mood, he felt her other hand come up towards him, slapping him squarely on his cheek. It burned furiously and Balthier had to admit he had never had to undergo such a painful clout in his life. She raised a hand to repeat the action - fingers splayed in preparation - but Balthier captured her arm before she had time to complete the movement. The force of his grip caused the gun to drop from her grasp and the woman was left defenseless in the presence of this intruder. She failed to struggle and panted from the sheer exhaustion of being bound by the thief.

"Let _go_ of me!" she hissed, dropping her face and shaking her flaxen locks feverishly.

He watched her, fighting between letting her go and releasing her from her pain and selfishly holding her close to him while she flailed. Balthier could not let go of her, even if he wanted to, but it cut him deep to watch her try and haul herself from his grasp.

"Look at me!"

She stopped, and dropped her head; allowing her hair to veil her face from view.

"_Look_ at me, _Princess_."  
It was the urgency of his voice that she could not resist, and the nostalgia of an old pet name that forced her to look up at her capturer against her will.  
Her baby-blue eyes were wide and enlivened as they peered into that memorable face. They absorbed the sight of those full lips and chiseled cheekbones; of the family nose and azure eyes that screamed at her to remember. Her eyes fluttered to the side, and Balthier followed her line of sight to see that she was staring attentively at his old portrait.

She saw him for what he was – not a thief, but her kin.

He released her from her grasp, watching her scrawny arms collapse back down to her sides. She was gawping at his picture still, letting it sink in. He wondered what was going through her mind at the time – was she surprised that he was alive? That he would bother after all this time to return? He could only speculate how much she had seen; what she had been through as a member of the Empire – how she would have seen the war differently as part of a nation. Balthier was free of his obligations to a state, whereas his sister had to carry the burden of being part of a prominent class of Archades and consequently, having to be leading endorsers of the government's decisions. He could not have endured the strain of such duties himself and knew that the years had certainly taken life out of his sister. It showed on her face – the strain of years of fighting; years of, God knows what kinds of hardship. His thoughts drifted briefly to Cid, and felt that the slap he received was not adequate punishment for leaving Valencia alone with their unhinged father.

"Recognize me now?"

At the comment, she was brought back to the present, and her other hand came rushing past; panting another vivid red handprint against his other cheek. He rubbed his burning skin, wincing as the same heat spread through the other side of his face.

"Ow! Is this how you treat your little brother?"

"You!" She pointed her finger at him and Balthier jumped back out of fear of receiving another slap. "Why have you come back Ffamran? You should not be here!"

"The love never stops around here," he jived, cocking an eyebrow at how inhospitable his sister was being. Naturally he would not expect instant happiness for his return, but if there was on person he would suppose would be glad to see him, would be his sister.

"You left!"

"But I am here, now!"

"For how long? You certainly did not come back here for me – what are you doing lurking in father's office!"

Did he have time to explain? Did he have time to recount six years of dastardly deeds and heroic adventures all leading to this pivotal moment in his history where he was defying the man he loathed beyond comprehension? Of course he was glad to see his sister – but it was true that his main intension was not to see her – far from it in fact! If it was up to him he would have been coward enough to have not wished this reunion. There were too many problems circulating at present for him handle this state of affairs to the best of his abilities.  
He rubbed his eyes, letting his body recline onto his hip.

"Valencia, I do not have time right now to talk."

"Six years, Ffamran – six _years_ you have been gone without even a whisper of your whereabouts – even if you were alive!" she looked about ready to cry; on the brink of tears though she was too strong to let them fall – stronger than Balthier could have ever been. "Six… years and you tell me that you haven't the _time_ to _talk_? How _dare_ you." She shook her head in disappointment, cupping her face with one hand to distort her vision of her handsome brother.

He grasped her shoulders tightly unsure what he hoped to achieve with this gesture. Perhaps it was the closest sign to a hug he would let himself give her.

"I'm sorry but this is not the time and place to discuss these matters. You can understand that, can't you?"

"But where have you been all this time? What have you done that would force you to come back here – and don't deny your unwillingness; I know this place was like a prison to you as a child!" Valencia gaped at him, her eyes searching and pleading for a scrap of information. She did not understand and how could she? Six years without any sign of him being alive and now she was forced to accept that he would leave again without any hint of returning back to her.  
Balthier's thoughts wandered to his teammates. By now they must have received the chops from Jules and were waiting for him at central. His fingers tightened their hold on her bony shoulders and she winced in return.

"There is too much to say in such a short interval. I want to tell you – I do, nonetheless I have other pressing matters that need attending to. When everything is finished – regardless of the outcome I promise to return; to tell you what I have seen and where I have traveled to as a sky-pirate."  
He thought she would sneer at him and mock what he had become. She had the right to, for she did not know the wonders of being a convict with no ties or allegiances to anyone. But Valencia was brought up in a time where the nation was everything and he did not think she could comprehend the extent of the freedom he has tasted and why it was worth running away for when there was so much back home. Nonetheless, she nodded slowly; taking it in.

"I should have expected so much."

"W-what?"

"Don't fool yourself Ffamran. You may have been able to delude yourself with the prospect of being a loyal researcher, but you were always more than father's plaything; more the explorer than the scientist. How many times have you longed to venture to Old Archades rather than spend time with the gentility of our home? You have always wanted to be in places of danger; go places where you knew there were few people like us... It was only a matter of time before you would want to break free of father's bonds and upbringing. Dagda thought you would not have had the courage to have traveled farther than the Phon Coast, but I knew that your dreams of dominating the skies would have taken you far from us."

"So you were not mad at my choice?"

She shrugged and chose her words carefully. "I am, but I suppose that I can grasp why you would leave – what you saw in the skies."

"And Dagda…" Balthier began, moving on swiftly to his brother. "Is he…"

"Alive? Yes. And well. He is now a commander of his own unit – a judge in fact. He took over your place quite quickly after you ran away." She still emphasized the fact that they were abandoned nonetheless she did not make a meal of the term and patiently waited for Balthier to ask his questions.

He snorted in response to this new information and rolled his eyes in disgust.  
"I am sure fat-Cid was pleased."

Valencia grimaced and turned her head. She used her long curls as a defense against Balthier's piercing gaze while she observed his painting once more. She nibbled on her lower lip until it was swollen and flushed scarlet, unsure whether it was wise to continue.

"What's wrong, Valencia?"

"It is nothing," ridding herself of her painful thoughts with another shake of her head. "Father was not very concerned with Dagda's promotion. By the time you left there was nothing much about the family that interested father." She began moving towards the entrance of their home once more, and Balthier trailed behind. "He hasn't used that office since you have left and very rarely has he come home from Draklor."

"Then why are you still here?"

She stopped and considered it for a moment, smiling once she reminded herself of the reason.

"Duty and love… My duty to him for when he comes home that I will be here regardless of whether he needs me or not."

"So he hasn't left anything here since then?"

"No, nothing."

"Blast it!" Balthier cursed, earning him a disbelieving glower from his sibling.

"So you came here for father? For his things?"

"No, I came for information on his forsaken nethicite and on Draklor Laboratory."

"Why… what importance is it to y-" She trailed away and her gaze became more intense; more piercing. Balthier could not hold it for long. He turned his head to escape her large, beseeching eyes and folded his arms defiantly over his chest as if making a statement that he could not be convinced that the path he has chosen is the wrong one.

"But… but he is your father – our father!"

"He is not my father any longer – or yours Valencia. Can you not seen that? That man is not the father we once knew. That place – that Giruvegan did something to him! Those blasted stones changed him into the lunatic he has become."

"Please… please stop!"

He could not. How could his sister not tell? Was she so blinded by love and devotion that she failed to notice all of his faults and focus on all of his? How could his reasons for leaving not be justified? How could any man – any son – stand by and watch their father become consumed by this alter-ego? And it was not just him that changed but his life's pursuit – his inventions were targeted at destroying: instead of transport ships he built warcrafts; instead of helping druids he created guns of machines of warfare. But this all seemed to pass her by.

"That man I am going to see is not our father. He has lost all sense and reason." He slid his hands down her arms to her hands, grasping them tightly. "Sister, Valencia… Princess… if you ever loved your father you would tell me how to get into Draklor."

"I-I… but it is betrayal! Ffamran-"

"I don't go by that name any longer," he stated coolly. "Balthier's the name."

"Balthier? Ha! You think that changing your name changes who you are? Underneath your common clothes and new name you are still my Ffamran – my little brother and the prodigal son! You are Cid Bunasa's child! His blood courses through your veins yet you cheat yourself with the idea that if you will it, you are not apart of him."

"But I am not! I threw away my ties to the past long ago, Valencia!"

"And yet here you are. Do you deny that I am your sister too? Do you pretend that you never had siblings in your perfect world? Balth-Ffamran, we do not choose our families but blood is still thicker than water. These people you work for or with – do they mean more to you than us? Than your family?"

Balthier considered long and hard what she was telling him and he could not find fault in her words. She was right – as was he, and with two rights no one could make a judgment on which opinion had priority – it was blood and water as she said. Nonetheless, she had stated what he feared most. He was Cid's son. The same blood pulsed through his body. So did that make him bad, or evil? He feared that he inherited his father's addictive nature or was more prone to the nethicite than the rest of his family. Did that justify his reasons from running away? That his cowardice prompted him to leave? Maybe in the end he would have not been affected by the nethicite; perhaps running away did not solve anything.

But it had been a risk he was not willing to take.

He inhaled deeply and squeezed her hands once more; caressing her soft digits in his.

"People are dying because of him. Lives that he helps take for the sake of this nethicite. He has done experiments on different races; taken lives in order to take history back into the hands of men. This is not father's way… is it, Valencia? This is not what he had wanted. I need to see… for myself that what he is doing is true. That what he seeks to do is true. If it is…"

Valencia was crying now; silent crystal tears streamed down her face and dripped from the curve of her jaw line. Her chin quivered as she tried to contain her sobs and her chest heaved as she regulated her breathing though the odd sniffle escaped her. She soon gave a nod, and brought their intertwined hands to her lips and kissed them.

"If it is true… he-he must be stopped. But please, please try to reason with him; try see if there is anything _human_ left in him? For me? There is still good in him. I know there is..."

_I wish that were only true_.

"Of course."

His beautiful sister; his porcelain doll, gave a final shuddered breath.  
"Draklor Laboratory…"

* * *

Back at central, Balthier cantered through he crowds on his way to the shuttle point of the taxis. Vaan's blonde locks and Fran's prominent ears peaked above the sea of heads. He seemed perplexed and slowed his gait as he came to meet his companions.

"Where have you been?" he panted, trying to compose himself.

"We had to get these chops!"

Balthier cocked a brow. "But I gave the necessary chops to Jules…"

Vaan looked ready to explode and Ashe and Basch were sharing a silent moment of disapproval for putting their trust in a common thief while Penelo endeavored to contain her old friend's temper. Fran was the only one who was focusing her attention on Balthier.

"So did you finish what you came here to do?"

"For the time being – but it is not over yet, Fran my love," he sighed, finishing at that. Fran smiled and did not pry – giving the leading man passage to lead the way.


	5. Chapter 5

**T I T L E** : Blood and Water  
**C H A P T E R **: Returned  
**A U T H O R** : ViviBell  
**R A T I N G** : K-T. Like, one bad word. xD  
**S P O I L E R S** : Yush. Takes place after the game has ended.  
**P A I R I N G S** : Hinted at FranxBalthier  
**S U M M A R Y** : One off. Bahamut has crashed and Balthier is left in ruins against the debris of the aircraft.  
He cannot move his legs.  
And he can barely see the blue heavens above him.  
His time is drawing to a close and his life flashes before his eyes...  
A life he had left behind.  
**D I S C L A I M E R** : Don't own SquareEnix's FFXII - or any of its original characters. Obviously, the OCs are mine. ;)

* * *

The sand had cooled and the cinders of the fire had died into a quiet simmer on the main plates of debris

The sand had cooled and the cinders of the fire had died into a quiet simmer on the main plates of debris. Balthier awaked and peered into the inky darkness of the heavens. His senses are dull and his vision blurred though some movement has returned to his hands and fingers. He snaked one to his belt and rests it on the cold handle of his gun. Still, the pain is unbearable and the aches have become more intense around his head. He wonders briefly if his wounds have stopped bleeding, or whether his legs are still in one piece – he is too tired to find out whether they are or not.  
He again focused his attention on the sky, narrowing his gaze on the speckled dots that are splayed across an ebony canvas. He has been lying here for hours and his still not recovered – arguable he has gotten worse for his pains have only intensified.

He closed his eyes and winces as he attempts to move. His knees quiver, but still no use. He gives into his pain with a loud grunt and allows his legs to sprawl across the terrain.  
"Looks like this is the end for the dashing sky-pirate," he spluttered, noticing the movement of shapes materializing close by. As it nears, Balthier can make out that it is a rogue wolf; its yellow pelt acting as perfect camouflage against its sandy abode.

Its warm breath pooled around Balthier's leg, and he trembled as sweltering saliva trickled onto his exposed skin from the beast's mouth.  
"Ugly bastard, aren't you? Oh well, better get on with it," he sighed, watching intently as the wolf's golden orbs glittered in the moon light; the tips of his fur coated in a silver hue. His fangs extended; his hot breath against his shoulder, Balthier closed his eyes and awaited his fate.

Behind closed lids, he heard the whistle of wind, and a sudden whimper.  
Opening one eye, Balthier saw that the beast was still upon him, panting and slobbering before his prey, but his eyes were clouded, and his pupils dilated until there was little evidence of an iris save the golden rim that encircled it. With a wheezing breath, the wolf toppled over onto its side, rolling some feet down the steep slope of a dune.

"What in the world?"

"Pity, that the leading man is not allowed to die in such a gruesome fashion," came a raspy drawl. Craning his neck, Balthier watched as his savior appeared over the horizon of his dune – ears first. Her bow was still tightly clenched in her bruised and bloodied hands, with one arrow poised and ready to be used.  
Balthier smirked as the tall Viera made her way to his side; composed and indifferent as always in her stance.

"If you are done with your self-wallowing I suggest we leave."

"You heard that?"

"Fortunately yes. It was your… uh, _whining_ that woke me in the first place," she told him, searching for the right word to describe Balthier's farewell to the world. But he didn't care. The sky-pirate could be insulted all day by his beautiful partner for it would not remove the grin from his face.

"Ah Fran you look ravishing as always."

"Quite," she said as she sheathed her weapon; reclining onto her heels so that she could better examine Balthier's wounds. She seemed strangely concerned as her soft, feathery touches danced over her partner's wounds and bruises, earning some heavy protests from Balthier until she hushed him with her striking gaze.

"You will live."

"Really? I feel like I am dying."

"No, pirate. You just need some sleep and you will recover swiftly."

"Sleep? I felt like I have slept through my entire lifetime," he told her with a roguish simper. "But, how do you propose fair Fran that we get away from all this dirt and debris?"

"Maybe I should carry you for once?" she suggested, her small nose twitching suddenly as Balthier propped himself with unexpected rigor, into a sitting position.

"That my dear, I cannot allow. The leading man does not get carried by his leading lady."

* * *

**N O T E S **: FINISHED! Woo. Okay - this one-shot is complete. Not very epic but it was a joy writing. I mean, who doesn't want  
to play a dashing sky-pirate once in a while, and try delve into his psyche? Yeah. Thats what I thought. 3 Oh and just so you know the typo: Bunasa. It should be Bunansa! I know! xD  
Damn the damn... n. xD Sorry for the lack of spell-check.

Dedicated to darling KJ and Hito. My Beloved Balthier Babes. Hope you enjoy my interpretation. A sequel may follow if I find an idea.

xx VIVI xx


End file.
